I woke up to my phone buzzing on the side table. 'Pleeeease?' Tia's text ended with the prayer hand emoji. She swore up, down, and all around that the green blended drink from Starbucks was
thee
hangover cure. Since I was freeloading in their guest house, the least I could do was fetch her drinks. I'd drive to the Starbucks in Portland if it showed them how much I appreciated their generosity.
'Anyone else want a drink?'
I texted. I pressed send and rolled out of bed. I was grabbing a cleanish pair of pants when I noticed a certain dark-haired guy sleeping in my bed. I stopped, pants in hand, and watched Penn. He was lying on his tummy with one arm dangling over the side of the bed. He was wearing my favorite pair of lime green spandex boxer briefs which hugged his body nicely.
The buzzing of my phone broke me from my reverie. It was a list of drinks. Looked like quite a few people crashed last night. No wonder Penn was sleeping in my bed, there was nowhere else for him. I wondered where Cam was. She was still there when I left but it sounded like she was on her way out with some friends. I know where she wasn't. With Penn.
Before my thoughts ventured to places they had no business being, I made my way to Starbucks.
****
I left Starbucks with a lead weight in my stomach. I hadn't considered what the total would be. Getting Len and Tia drinks to show my appreciation was one thing. Buying drinks for a dozen people when I had no idea what my future financial situation was? That was a whole other beast. But I wasn't about to go back and demand money from them. It wasn't that I
was
technically broke. Lee and I had done well but I wasn't bringing anything in now and I was worried Lee would see a purchase for $40 at Starbucks and flip his shit. I didn't owe him a thing after what he put me through but he was now the sole earner for the two of us. As long as we were sharing finances, I was okay financially. The second we split them; I'd have to worry.
The couches were full of lifeless bodies recovering from the night before. After doling out drinks, I joined them in front of the TV where they were half watching a golf tournament.
If track hadn't been my whole life in high school, I think I would've played golf more seriously. I always liked it. I played some over the years, mostly charity events, sometimes with friends. I especially loved watching it. There was something about golfers I found sexy.
I managed to nab a loveseat and an oversized ottoman to myself. I was stretched out watching the TV when fingers ruffled my hair. I looked up to find Penn pouting.
"Thanks for getting me a coffee."
"You were sleeping." I held out my drink as an offering which he accepted with a smile. He sipped it like it was the most precious thing he ever tasted.
He was wearing my clothes. A pair of jogger sweats that bordered too small and a hoodie. He flopped down next to me and laid his head in my lap like it was something we did every Sunday. He settled his head on my lap and wrapped his arm around my thigh like a boa constrictor.
"Nice clothes."
"It was either this or the costume."
"
I vote that costume
," his brother shouted from the other couch.
Me too.
The morning was quiet. Penn and I shared my coffee and watched the cute boys hit balls around the course. The girls were fanning over Rickie Fowler, who I thought was overrated. I loved confident guys but he always struck me as kind of...a dick. He dressed nice but he wasn't all that attractive.
"Ugh, what is it about that guy? He's not even cute," I complained.
"Okay then, who has your vote?"
"Phil Mickelson, duh."
Penn looked up from my lap like I was crazy. Believe it or not, Phil was a total hottie back in the day and even in his advanced age, he was giving the younger generation a run for their money on the green. He was a force to be reckoned with if you asked me.
"Hey, Phil is a classic," Ryan defended. "There's nothing wrong with him."
"Of course you'd say that," his wife's voice was full of innuendo.
"What can I say. I have good taste in men."
"What does that mean?" She cried.
I laughed as they bantered back and forth. The discussion kept going and everyone had an opinion about who the hotter golfers was. Every time a golfer was showcased, we rated him. When it came down to it, talking about cute golfers came naturally to me.
"Oh, look, Penn, it's your boyfriend," Angie cooed as ESPN panned a shot of Bryson DeChambeau hitting from the sand trap.
I looked down to see how he'd react to being teased. That's when I realized I was fingering his hair. It wasn't awkward when he did it to me a few days ago because I was distraught and he was being a good friend. This was different and I felt very uncomfortable about it. He was married and, even though I was on my way to divorce, I was married too. Penn might not have feelings for me, but I was sure feeling things for him. I didn't want him to get the wrong impression from me.
"Whatever, he's cute," Penn shrugged in my lap. His fingers, which were still wrapped around my leg, brushed against my inner thigh as he shifted. That stupid touch had my brain short-circuiting.
I slipped out from under Penn and made my way to the kitchen. Anything to get away from him and the guilt I had for thinking and feeling things that were off-limits.
He was my friend. He was my friend. He was my friend.
He'd been there when I had no one. He was supportive and caring and did what he could to make sure I was happy. What was I doing in return? I was using him as a surrogate husband.